


The Hannibal Mile High Club

by RedFive



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Bad Gifts From Will Graham, Bottom Hannibal, Copious amounts of alcohol - Freeform, Domestic Bliss, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Food Porn, Football, Free! Iwatobi Swim Club crossfic, M/M, Murder Husbands, New England Patriots, Will Graham Cooks, Will Graham loves his dogs - Freeform, murder snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFive/pseuds/RedFive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Hannigram drabbles and short fics written while I'm traveling. Prompts collected via tumblr. If you want to request something for my next trip, come visit me at redfivewritingby.tumblr.com.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Another Bloody Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> “Will making Hannibal laugh - or just witnessing Hannibal laugh - and having feels about it! <3″ - via @fragile-teacup

“In my defense, I did argue against naming the dog Villain. This was a self-fulfilling prophecy when you think about it," I say sure that I’m about to be gutted and left for dead in Hannibal’s kitchen _**again.**_

Our dog sits at my feet, covered in mud and gore. A dead chicken sits at her feet in a similar state. The kitchen…well, suffice it to say: it’s not pretty.

“What happened," Hannibal looks horrified. The only time I’ve seen him more disturbed was after that incident in the barn with the social worker while we still worked cases together.

I don’t offer an explanation. It’s clear that these two decided to redecorate while I wasn’t paying attention. There is mud, blood, and feathers _**everywhere**_. “Look, I’ll clean it up. It’ll be like it never happened. Promise. Just go read a book or something. I’ll take care of everything.”

I feel just horrible. Hannibal has a bouquet of flowers in his hand, which lays limply at his side. He’s dressed up in a new suit and probably had some grand romantic evening planned, but then Villain had to go recreate one of the Ripper’s greatest hits–destroying the sanctity of the holiest room in the farmhouse.

The flowers fall onto the floor; the sound splits my heart open. 

Hannibal leans against the counter shaking with rage and mumbling a string of what I assume are curses in Lithuanian. 

Villain barks and runs over to Hannibal with her tail wagging. I call her back, but she ignores me. Villain is the most willful dog I’ve ever owned and her training is not going well, which makes sense considering it was Hannibal who picked her out.

To my surprise, Hannibal kneels down and embraces her, mud and all. Then I realize that it’s not rage Hannibal is shaking with but laughter. The sound is the purest thing I’ve ever heard. It makes Bach look amateurish by comparison. “Were I my former self, we would be having hot dogs for dinner,” he says and scratches Villain behind her ears with both hands. “But I suppose any right I have to complain about the mess you make in my life ended when I tried to destroy yours, Will.”

The world tilts on its axis, and I no longer trust my legs to hold me up. It’s almost an apology. I sit on the floor beside Hannibal and stroke Villain’s back. “You’ve changed,” I say while trying to dodge Villain’s bloody kisses. _She is Hannibal Lecter's dog alright._

“You changed me.”

I lean against his shoulder and wrap my arms around his. “We changed each other.”

I’m on the floor near tears in another bloody kitchen, but this time the ending is different. This time there is a way forward—together.


	2. Morning Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @lecteronthelam who requested: “morning wood. whose becomes the butt of jokes? (was that a lame pun? idek anymore)”

Hannibal is at the sink washing for dinner when Will arrives with the bottle of wine and the milk he went to fetch from the store.  


“Brrr, it’s chilly in here,” he says shaking snowflakes out of his hair, which land on Hannibal’s freshly cleaned floors.

“We’re out of wood,” Hannibal says and is mildly annoyed at the endless mess Will always leaves in his wake.

“I’ll get it in the morning. It’s too cold to be outside right now,” Will says. His pocket knife is already in his hand, and he removes the cork from the bottle with an inelegant but rugged grace that makes Hannibal hungry for something other than the fish he has prepared.

“Morning wood?” Hannibal asks practically purring over his own joke.

Will throws his head back and groans. “I walked into that one didn’t I?”

Hannibal slides up to him, and gently removes the knife from Will’s hand. He kisses his husband’s cheek, and places the heel of his hand at Will’s crotch. “What are your feelings about evening wood?”

Will’s arm snakes around his waist. He pulls Hannibal close with a bemused grin. “Anything to stay warm, love.”


	3. Take Me Out to the Ballgame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2 from @lecteronthelam: “tailgating. hannibal misunderstanding the concept"

“What. The hell. Is that,” Zeller says. His mouth hangs open dumbly, but there is a merciless amusement in his eyes. He knows exactly what _**that**_ is, and he intends to use this moment to elevate himself over his peers. 

Never one to admit a mistake, Hannibal not only braces for the impact, but he steers into it.

“ ** _That_**  is a sweet potato and sausage pie with an accompanying salad of celery, walnuts, dates and Pecorino.”

"Yeah, but what is it doing at a tailgate party?” Zeller fires back and crosses his arms in front of his chest. 

Hannibal stands before a crowd of FBI agents with a picnic basket in his hands. He keeps his eyes directed pointedly at Zeller’s navel, which gives the unfortunate appearance that the moron has won.  It’s a survival measure–for both of them. If Hannibal looks up now, he’ll be undone. There would be no mistaking the look in his eyes for anything but murderous intent. Even a laymen like Zeller would see that Hannibal Lecter is more than he appears.

“Can it, Zeller!”

Will’s voice is harsh and resolute.  Hannibal turns towards it, and lets his rage slip away seeing the soft blue eyes of his friend burn a hole into the back of the little worm’s skull.

His patient catches him staring and blushes with shame to Hannibal’s disappointment. Despite his worsening physical condition and Hannibal’s careful ministrations, Will still resists his raw instincts. But this is a problem for another day. Right now, Will has scooted over creating room on the back of the truck bed where he sits.

Hannibal takes a seat beside him. Will does not waste a moment taking the picnic basket out of his lap and digs in. “Zeller is an idiot,” he grumbles with his face full of food. “More for me though.”

“I’m glad someone enjoys my cooking although I’m surprised you came along at all on Jack’s little team building exercise since this sort of thing usually requires one to be social,” Hannibal observed.

This time Will waits to finish his mouthful before speaking. "When I heard you were thinking about going, I thought you might need some backup.”

This had been Hannibal’s plan from the beginning of course, but it was pleasing to hear Will admit that he had come for Hannibal’s sake. “Thank you for the companionship, Will.”

"Thank you for the food. Oh! That reminds me. I got you something.” Will reaches behind him and plucks something from his back pocket. He shakes out a beaten-up baseball cap that looks like it has been buried in his closet for quite a long time.  Before Hannibal can protest, Will shoves it onto his head backwards.

“There you go, Doctor Lecter! Now you’re doing this tailgating thing right,” he smirks and slaps Hannibal across the back. 

“Go Orioles,” Hannibal sulks.

—


	4. Play Action Fake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @confusedkayt: “Hannibal trying to make a sports metaphor :P”

“Hannibal, move your ass. I’m not going to jail for you twice,” Will says half-running, half-dragging his partner behind him.

“Perhaps if _**somebody**_ had been paying closer attention, we would not be in this predicament,” Hannibal grumbled through gritted teeth. The hand Will held was slick with blood, and not all of it belonged to their victim. He was in pain, which Will hated to hear, but his sympathy for the devil only went so far. Hannibal was also being a major _pain in the ass_ right now. 

“Look the point of a concealed weapon is that you _**don’t**_ see it until it’s too late.”

“Really, Will? I did not know that. Did you teach that in your accelerated classes at Quantico? Your students must have been riveted during that lecture. Such a pity I missed that one,” Hannibal groused then stumbled nearly dragging them both into the muck.

Will slowed down a little, but only a little. The Polizia were close. He could hear their boots splashing in the dank waters of sewers in determined pursuit. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“My shoulder does not accept your apology.”

It took a herculean effort not to drown Hannibal in the nearest puddle. 

“Do me a favor, dear. The next time you feel like jumping in front of a bullet or blade for me…don’t. Just let them have me and spare us all the bitching,” Will snapped.

Hannibal brushed his hair out of his eyes indolently and belatedly realized there was dirt (or worse) on his hands. "I assure you, I will take that under advisement,” he said and made a face that could murder stone. 

The Polizia were closer now. Will could hear their voices only one tunnel away. They needed to hide, _but where?_  "Not good. This is why you should have let me bring a gun.”

“No guns on date night, William,” his boyfriend fussed.

"You’re going to regret that decision. I don’t think they allow conjugal visits between inmates, Hanners,” he said. If Hannibal was going to be a brat, Will was going to return his snark tit-for-tat. 

“We need a Hail Mary here.”  


“Hah. You can say that again,” Will said. He scanned the area for something they could use to their advantage or better yet, an escape route. There was a large door in the tunnel, which read “Access.” It would probably lead them back to street level, but they would be sitting ducks in that stairwell. Then he paused and waggled an eyebrow at Hannibal. “Do you mean a prayer…or….was that a sports analogy?”  


Hannibal shrugged. “Your bloodsports might be less entertaining than mine, but I do pick things up. I’m observant, Will, unlike _**someone else** _ I know.”

Will ignored the insult. Hannibal had a point, but not the point he thought he had. “No, we don’t need a Hail Mary Pass. We need a Play Action Fake. Follow my lead once I give the signal.” Hope swelled in his chest for the first time in an hour. It was a stupid idea, but even a stupid idea gave them a better chance than they had now. 

“What’s the signal?”

“This.” Will said and kicked-in the door.

He pulled Hannibal through the portal, and together they hid _**behind**_ the door.   


The noise drew the attention of the Polizia who incorrectly assumed that the fugitives had fled to the surface. 

Hannibal had his arms around Will who shook with repressed laughter when it became clear that this cartoonish plan was actually going to work. 

When the noise had faded and they were alone again, Will took Hannibal’s face between his hands and kissed him. “You’re brilliant,” he said. “I mean it was mostly my plan that saved of our asses, but I guess you deserve _**some**_ of the credit.“

Hannibal tutted. “I’m also dirty. Let’s go home, Will.”

They walked back into the tunnels hand-in-hand. “A hot bath for two?” Will chirped. “I can think of worse ends to Date Night.”

"Such as cliff-diving for instance,” Hannibal provided, but there was amusement in his voice not anger.

“Oh, get over yourself, Hannibal.”


	5. Game On, Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @pope417 who requested: “I love the idea of Hannibal and Will arguing over something silly. (Or not silly, know Hannibal.)"

“You cheated,” Hannibal accuses.

They are sitting on the couch facing each other. Discontent permeates the air between them, but originates from Hannibal’s side of the room.

“I prefer to think of it as creative license. As an artist, I thought you’d appreciate that,” Will taunts and holds his hand out to Hannibal.

But his lover is having none of it, and his nostrils flare at the peace offering. “The game is called Rock, Paper, Scissors, Will.“

"Everyone knows Volcano beats all three of those. I’m sure Descartes wrote some treatise on it back in the day.”

Hannibal's eyes narrow, and the lines of his neck grow tense. He is a lion ready to pounce. "Best two out of three? No Volcanos this time,” he offers.

Will swallows the sour taste of fear building up in his throat, but the glint of the rail calls to him. “You’re on,” he says and folds his open hand into a fist.

He and Hannibal face off again. Will throws down paper, but Hannibal makes a motion of a knife being dragged across his neck. 

“Haha, I don’t know that one,” Will says.

“Ripper rips Agent Graham,” Hannibal growls. It’s a tone as menacing as you’d expect from the Chesapeake Ripper, but Will knows better. He sees the flick of Hannibal’s tongue against his bottom lip and notes that he is holding his breath. He’s playing the monster because he knows this is what makes Will go on the  attack.

Will slides over to the other side of the couch. Hannibal doesn’t move an inch so Will must awkwardly situate himself on his lover’s lap in a position that cannot be comfortable for either of them. Since Hannibal wants Will to struggle, he returns the favor by grabbing the villain by the throat as he kisses him. “You’ve tried that twice already, dear, and it has yet to work out for you.”

“I think I came out on top in the end,” Hannibal rasps.

Will leans down and bites the tip of his ear. “Tonight you won’t,” he whispers. “I guarantee it.”


	6. Everybody's a Critic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Graham is New York's most notoriously merciless theater critic. Expecting to suffer through another over-produced ballet, Will is taken by surprise when the show's lead dancer manages to both impress and captivate him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @the-winninowing-wind who requested: "mermaid AU ballet".

Will picked a piece of lint off his pants and straightened a crease with a tug. He fidgeted with his glasses; checked his watch for the fiftieth time; and prayed that God would either get this show on the road or drop the ceiling on top of the entire audience. 

 "Why did I let Alana talk me into this? I hate the ballet.“ Almost as much as he hated Baltimore. What he wouldn’t give to be back in Connecticut with his dogs. Hell, even Manhattan would be preferable to this. 

 An usher came around and asked if he would like anything to drink. Will ordered a Bullet neat and held up three fingers. Jack would give him a lecture on Monday about running up the tab on the Times’ dollar, but Jack could fucking deal with it. He could have rescued Will from all of this by saying “no” when Will requested the assignment. As Will’s friend and boss, he should have known by now that certain things we’re bad for him. Overnight trips required Will to be social since he couldn’t use Metro North as an excuse to leave early and skip the after-party. Will, who had no patience for any of it, usually walked away from those things with more enemies than friends. None of that mattered to Jack so long as he got his story on the cultural renaissance of the ballet in Baltimore while Alana got to go on her date with Margo.

 The waiter brought him his drink just as the house lights began to dim. Will tipped him generously to make him go away faster and settled in to watch what he was sure would be a sparkling example of pomp and mediocrity. Will looked down at the playbill and scoffed openly. Two merpeople embraced in a passionate kiss against a blue backdrop that was as bright as everything else in the illustration. If the costuming was as consistently garish as the playbill this was going to be a very long evening. 

The ballet began and a sea of swirling tulle and long limbs took the stage. It required all of Will’s restraint not to pound back his bourbon just to cope with the chaotic choreography and Disney-esque score, but somehow he managed. Bad as the production was, it was not without its highlights. Many of the dancers were quite good particularly the the male lead–that one was VERY good. Will could scarcely take his eyes off him the entire evening. In iridescent leggings with gauzy strips of fabric streaming from his ankles, he looked more like a Clydesdale than a merman, and yet he still managed to look stately in his Vegas-like regalia. His movements were less fluid than the others, but this did not detract from his performance. Every jump and turn betrayed a power unparalleled by anyone else in the company. He was a strong current among laughing waves.

Time passed slowly, but Will didn’t mind. The production was so dull and unremarkable that it allowed him to focus singularly on the true artistry of that one dancer. By intermission, he began to suspect that the warmth in his belly was not just the result of his drinking. How long had it been since he had been with anybody? Too long whatever the answer, and those arms…they might as well have been cut from stone. Will leaned forward and wondered if that motif extended to the dancer’s facial features as well, but he was seated too far away to see. It was definite; Will was captivated in ways that went beyond professional curiosity. 

When the curtain closed and the audience rose to give the cast a standing ovation, Will found himself joining them. Why the hell not? He was feeling charitable right now. The bourbon had made him warm and less bitter, and for once, he was actually looking forward to the after-party. Who knew who might show up?

 

 


	7. Fork Down and Conversion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @lecteronthelam who requested Hannibal at a Super Bowl party (squee) and I can only assume she knows what’s coming. Set during Season One if Season One were taking place during the upcoming Super Bowl. AFC East fans, you're not going to like this, mwhahaha.

“Did Price put pot in the brownies again?” Bev asks.

Will sips his scotch, already his second of the evening. There will be a third, a fourth, and quite probably a fifth before the fourth quarter. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure I’m high.”

“Originally, I thought it was a hallucination, but if you’re seeing it too then I guess this is really happening.”

They are standing together along the wall purposely placing themselves as far away from the action as possible. It is just too strange to want any part of this.

Hannibal flounces around the room entertaining his many guests for the occasion—nothing out of the ordinary there. The table is set with its usual finery. The ornate spread is immense, but not everything is normal. For starters the menu is all wrong: panko crusted duck wings under a spicy, honey glaze; hand cut potato chips with a dusting of garlic and thyme; home brewed beer with an infusion of jalapeño. But this Hannibal-esque take on the heartland is the least weird thing in the room. That honor does not even belong to the flatscreen, which has replaced the painting of _Leda and the Swan_ in the dinning room. No, the thing that makes Will’s blood run cold is seeing Hannibal Lecter… _ **in a football jersey**_.

“Are you responsible for this?” Bev asks.

“Afraid so,” he tells her while wondering about the amount of scotch necessary to knock himself out? 

A few weeks ago, Hannibal had dropped by his house in Wolf Trap with a dumb excuse about having too many leftovers. _Who makes a week’s worth of accidental leftovers?_ (Someone who doesn’t trust their friends to feed themselves that’s who.)

On that day, a football game had been playing on the small CRT television Will kept in his kitchen to provide a little background noise while he cleaned his latest catch. For reasons unknown, the game caught Hannibal’s attention. He stayed all afternoon asking Will questions about the rules, the two teams, and the odd fan rituals on display. The next time Will saw Hannibal, he’d become a goddamn expert.

"Did they suddenly start hiring opera singers to perform at halftime?”

Will sighs. His mind is already replaying the many conversations he and Hannibal have had about this matter. In fact, Will had made the exact same joke about the opera only 24 hours earlier. “He says he is fascinated by how closely aligned the strategies are to older styles of warfare. For Hannibal, football is like experiencing Waterloo in real time.”

Bev groans and throws back her glass in one gulp. “Okay, I guess I can see that, but…the Evil Empire? Really? REALLY, WILL!?!” she says and points accusingly at Doctor Lecter and his Patriots jersey.

“Hannibal is Hannibal,” Will answers and finishes his second glass of scotch. “You really think he’d cheer for the hometown team because that’s how it’s done? New England’s style of play matches his aesthetics: competitive, meticulous, efficient,—”

“Ruthless,” Bev interrupts.

Will laughs. “Yeah, that too. Do you disagree?”

She thinks about that for moment then shakes her head. “No, I don’t, but, ugh…the Patriots.”

Will doesn’t really care. He supposes he feels a mild fondness for the Saints since he and his dad used to watch the occasional game together when he was a child, but for Hannibal’s sake, Will hopes New England wins this. It’s the big one–the Super Bowl–and every fan remembers their first Super Bowl.

Tom Brady and company are on screen holding a 14 point lead against their nemesis at the end of the first half. The Giants look miserable, but the Patriots aren’t relenting even though their opponent appears weak, They’ve been here twice before and lost. This time they are going for the kill.

The snap is called. The quarterback sneaks forward and dives into the end zone extending their lead to 20. Hannibal ‘whoops’ before he stands and claps like he is attending the ballet. That’s Will’s queue to get that third drink because he just can’t process this tale of two Hannibal’s any longer.

Bev must be of a similar opinion because she follows. They withdraw to the kitchen where they have been sneaking hooch from Hannibal’s private reserves all evening.

“At least the seven layer dip is good,” she says to fill the awkward space between them.

“Seventeen layer,” he corrects as he refills her glass with some expensive scotch. He hopes Hannibal will be annoyed when he discovers that someone has put away hundreds of dollars of top shelf liquor without invitation. Will feels it’s the least he and Beverly are owed for the psychological trauma they’ve endured.

“What?” she asks.

“It’s a seventeen layer dip, and I dare you to ask him about it.”

“Goddammit, Graham. What have you done?”

“I created a monster,” he says and smiles sardonically. Will is no stranger to the type, but as far as monsters go, this one could be worse. Hannibal hasn’t killed anyone after all.

Bev laughs and lightly punches his shoulder. “I hope you know what you’re doing. For your sake as well as mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GO PATS!


	8. The Gift That Keeps On Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My bestie wanted Will to bake Hannibal a cake so off we go!

_“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear Hannibal. Happy Birthday to you,”_ Will sings as he places the cake he was worked on all afternoon in front of him.

“It’s…I don’t know what to say.” It’s a monstrosity is what it is. The layers are uneven; the icing is melting because Will didn’t let the cake coo first, and Hannibal is not even sure what flavor the icing is because it is **_purple_**. Will is beaming at him from across the table, which makes Hannibal’s palms sweat. “It’s wonderful, Will. Thank you.”

“Of course! Now make a wish.”

Hannibal wishes that he’ll survive this latest attempt on his life, but he does not like his odds. “What kind of cake is it?”

“It’s a surprise! I got the recipe off Pinterest. It had your name all over it,” Will says as he removes the candles and cuts Hannibal a dubiously large slice.

The cake is chocolate and has a salty smell to it. Hannibal breaks off a piece with is fork and raises it up for examination. “Is that bacon in the middle?”

“It’s the thing now–bacon as desert. I thought of you the moment I saw it. The…err, base came from that farm in Southwick.”

There is no farm in Southwick, only a bed & breakfast owned by a very rude innkeeper where he and Will celebrated their anniversary. The thoughtfulness of the gift causes Hannibal to take a leap of faith he knows he will regret as he eats the small bite of cake. 

The cake is dry and saltier than the Atlantic. Combined with the much too sweet icing, it is almost more than Hannibal can stomach but he manages to swallow it anyway. “It’s got a….unique taste,” he says and looks sorrowfully at the giant piece of cake he’s going to have to choke down.

“I’m glad you like it,” Will says merrily.

Hannibal’s stomach groans its objection. He looks at Will’s and realizes that Will isn’t just smiling; he is barely containing his laughter. The pieces fall into place as Hannibal realizes he has been had. “You vile thing,” he growls and tosses his napkin at Will.

Will leans back in his chair laughing uncontrollably. “That could not have worked out any better.”

“And they call me a monster,” he huffs.

“I can’t take all the credit. Chiyoh, you can come out now,” he calls to the kitchen.

Chiyoh walks into the dining room carrying an exquisite chocolate cake. Lighted candles are nested among a bouquet of delicately sculpted, edible roses.

“As always my dear, I am pleased to see you in my hour of need,” Hannibal says and pushes Will’s cake far to the side.

“Happy Birthday, Hannibal,” she says and sets the cake in front of him. “Blow out your candles.”

Hannibal doesn’t make a wish. He has everything he could want right here in front of him, but he blows out his candles to appease his family; however, the candles remain lit. He tries again, but the candles do not go out.

“They say that shortness of breath is a sign of advanced age, Doctor Lecter,” Chiyoh says with a subtle smile.

Hannibal glares at each of them in turn. “I hate you both.”

Will leans across the table and places his hand on top of Hannibal’s. “Too bad. You’re stuck with us.”


	9. Uh, Thanks Will?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you give the creepy cannibal who has everything already? An Otter Penis Bone...duh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by confusedkayt's and the-winnowing-wind's ["Bad Gifts From Will Graham"](http://confusedkayt.tumblr.com/post/148029814087/bad-gifts-from-will-graham) post on Tumblr, which you should all check out. It is magnificent; majestic even; down right tops. 
> 
> (Not written while I was traveling, but I figured I'd stick it here anyway for posterity. Speaking of which, I have another trip coming up in two weeks. If you have a prompt you'd like me to take a crack at, message me on A03 or Tumblr: redfivewritingby.)

Something was wrong. Something did not belong on this table setting, and when Hannibal found out who was responsible, they would be tonight’s third course.

If Will were here, he would scrunch his nose up like he had just come in contact with day old meat and whisper his standard “this is not my design.”

It was  ** _certainly_**  not Hannibal Lecter’s design, not all of it at least, although one might be forgiven for that assumption given the suspicious item in question. 

Among the huckleberry, antlers, and weeping petals of black irises lay a single white bone. The bone was not unusual except that it was the only one of its kind inside the ornate and well-balanced centerpiece, which had taken three hours to construct. (Three!) It was small, only four inches long, and slender. It was thick enough to be a breast bone but the curve was all wrong since it was curved only at one end. “Is that a…,” Hannibal began to wonder aloud as he studied the rounded head of the curved end, but his examination was cut short by the not so distant barking of  _ **several**_ dogs.

Chaos erupted in the dinning room when Will strode through the doorway with his pack at his heels.

“Haaaaanibal,” he said in that tone of voice he used whenever he had just been exceptionally wicked. Will dumped a bag of groceries on the table and swooped in for a kiss–or tried to anyway. It took two attempts to lure Hannibal’s attention away from his incongrous centerpiece. “Do you like your present?” He asked.

“What?” Hannibal said in a daze. He was unable to look away from Will’s sharp and conniving eyes for long, but equally unable to remain focused while the offending object remained in its improper place. The dogs jumped at his legs begging for his attention but he ignored them too. 

“I said ‘did you like your present’?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Hannibal said as he peered over Will’s shoulder still pondering the mystery of the bone with growing discontent.

_‘Will had been responsible?’_  
    'Of course he was responsible. Who else could it have been?’   
    'Lord Above, what else has my beloved gotten into?’   
  
Will’s surprises tended to be grand on scale. Hannibal wondered what lay in wait in the silverware drawer or hidden among the table linens.

“Stop it! You’ll find this hilarious later.” Will said and gave Hannibal a soft punch to his gut.

Physicality succeeded where tenderness failed. Hannibal blinked, breathed, and finally began to feel more like himself. “Did you…get me a penis bone?”

“100% genuine otter!” Will beamed. “I cataloged your entire collection of creepy table decorations to find one thing you didn’t already have.”

The gift was of course meant as a joke, but Hannibal found the confection no less sweet despite the razor within. And Will was right, it was hilarious. “Lucky me,” Hannibal said and ruffled those ill behaved curls.

Will grabbed Hannibal’s hand brought it to his lips. “Don’t you forget it,” he said as he kissed the back of Hannibal’s knuckles.


	10. Eggs-actly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Domesticity, Will has to get used to Hannibal’s neat-freak habits and tendencies, and sometimes misplaces things just to annoy him.” via @hannibalnuxvomica.

It started as an accident seven days ago, Scout’s honor. I wanted a fried egg, and nothing more. Believe me, if I had meant to get under Hannibal’s skin I’d have used a knife.

On Tuesday, I wanted an omelette. No big deal. Even I can make an omelette.

When Hannibal brought home the bacon a few days later (i.e. the accountant who would become the bacon), I tried to make him breakfast, but this was the last straw.

I thought I was being helpful. I thought I was being sweet, but maybe during these forays into the sanctified domain of Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen, I forgot to close the egg drawer.

So here we are in the middle of our first major fight since the cliff.

Hannibal has withdrawn to his study with a bottle of sauvignon blanc to get over himself. I’ll give him another hour to fume before I kick-in the door and let him bend me over his desk.

It’s not like I ruined the eggs. It’s aesthetics. It’s always aesthetics with Hannibal. In hindsight, I should have seen this coming. He’s meticulous. I’m not. He’s ordered. I’m erratic. He’s destructive. I’m…well, I guess I’m destructive too.

I’ll be more careful in the future—not that I’ll ever tell him that. I want this to work. I him to see that I care, plus the risk of collateral damage is too high when his blood is hot. So I’ll pick my battles and give him the illusion of having the upper hand in our relationship.

My coffee mug is still half-full. It’s my second since the shouting began, but I’m bored of it now. There’s not a lot to do in our safe house except to fuck and listen to the broadband radio since I’m shut out of the library until he's done.

I check the clock once more and wince. How is it only 11? Maybe an hour is too long a wait. I’ll give him another 15 minutes before I check his temperature. He’s wearing the red sweater today, and I love him in that sweater. 

I dump the coffee in the sink and stand at the window humming to myself. Better make it 10 minutes.


	11. Don't You Look Handsome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Post season three fluff: Hannibal’s rivalry with Will’s dogs. Like, Hannibear’s being a total drama queen” via @fledglinginkstand

The dachshund waited at the door eager to greet Hannibal when he returned with the groceries. Tail wagging. Ears perked. He vibrated with excitement while proudly wearing one of Hannibal’s precious silk bowties.

At first, Hannibal did not believe what he was seeing, but when his vision did not clear after blinking a few times, he became apoplectic with anger. 

“WILL!” He roared frightening the small creature, which Will had named Duke. 

Hannibal dropped the bag of groceries and lunged for the rotten animal. The height differential made it easy for Duke to avoid him by darting between his legs. To add insult to injury, the once proud Hannibal Lecter faceplanted on the custom spanish tiles of their foyer.

Duke bolted for the stairs with Hannibal trailing behind him like a hurricane while muttering a recipe for bratwurst. Undoubtedly, the dog would run immediately into safety of Will’s arms as he always did when the yelling started. In that way, Duke was useful. When Hannibal needed to flush Will out of his secret brooding spots, Hannibal would recite an Italian sonnet in a booming voice until Duke led Hannibal to him.

Hannibal stalked the animal to their bedroom. When he arrived, Duke was already in Will’s lap licking his face enthusiastically, which made Hannibal’s stomach turn.

Will sat in one of the two Victorian chairs by the window paying Hannibal no mind at all. “Hey, there Duke,” he cooed and kissed the top of the dog’s head.

_Revolting,_ Hannibal thought.

“How are you enjoying your new bow tie?” his paramour said to the dog. 

"Will,” Hannibal growled to get his attention. All pretense of softness and civility were gone from his voice and posture.  "I believe I have been very patient with ALL of your demands and eccentricities,“  _ **and there had been many**_ , "but this shall not be borne!”

Duke settled down as Will scratched behind the dachshund’s ear unconcerned by Hannibal’s disapproval. “When did you start wearing bow ties, Hannibal? You never used to and you have so many in your collection."

"Do you have any idea how much that piece costs? It’s  _ **silk**_ , Will,”and also Hannibal's favorite, which he was sure the former profiler already knew.

Will whistled and pointed at the ground. Duke lowered his ears, and jumped onto the floor. "I don’t care, and I’m asking the questions here, Doctor.” He stood up and glared back. If Hannibal seemed angry, Will was every bit his emotional equal for reasons unknown. What in Dante’s seven hells had Hannibal done to upset him now? There really was no telling with him. Will had been… _volatile_ since the fall.

“When did you start wearing bow ties, Hannibal?” Will repeated. 

Hannibal sniffed the air taking a measure of the situation. It smelled sweet in the way that cyanide is sweet tinged with bitterness.  He knew this scent well. Rank jealousy was unmistakable.   _Interesting._ "They were popular in Florence,” he offered.

Will swallowed and ground his teeth while Hannibal watched bemused. The pieces were all coming together. So he was jealous of Bedelia was it? Did Will think that Hannibal had let her pick them out for him? Hah! He scoffed openly at the thought, which Will misinterpreted as a gesture meant for him.

It was all the provocation Will needed; he’d likely been looking for a reason to fight all afternoon. The younger man lunged for Hannibal and they both fell. Fortunately there was mattress there to catch them  ** _this time._**

Hannibal resisted only enough for show and allowed himself to be pinned. “No more bow ties!” Will shouted because he was wound-up.

Hannibal smiled and warmed rapidly to the feeling of Will ontop of him. He rolled his hips pressing his erection into Will’s thigh. How many years had he waited for this beautiful creature to start taking what he wanted? Hannibal had lost count, but it did not matter. They were all worth it because Will was perfect in every way. 

“No more bow ties,” Hannibal promised. 

“Thank you,” Will responded and leaned down to kiss him, but after three chaste pecks, Hannibal started thrashing in an effort to break free.

“Yuck! Will, no. Stop! Will, you taste like dog.”

“Woof,” Will said and licked the side of his face.

"Ugh. Disgusting." Okay, so maybe perfection was a myth. 


	12. The Kobayashi Maru 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Star Trek College AU via @the-winnowing-wind
> 
> I'll admit it: I cheated on the college part-blatently cheated-which is actually kinda appropriate. Captain Kirk would approve.

“Dad, what was the Kobayashi Maru 2 like?” Abigail asks a horrified Will.

“Where did you hear that name, sweetie?” he says hoping he does not sound as nervous as he feels.

“Uncle Z told me to ask you about it when he came over for my birthday party.”

_Zeller._  When Will gets his hands on that snake he is going to beam him down to a planet made of pine straw and spiders.

“Just a nonsense mission from our days at the Academy. It’s nothing exciting.”

In truth, the Kobayashi Maru 2 was the op-designation he and Zeller had given their ill-fated panty raid on the girl’s dormitory. Named after the near impossible test all trainees took, but only one man had passed, they should have known they were tempting fate with their arrogance. 

“Tell me the story, Daddy, please,” she says holding the final vowel until she runs out of breath.

“Yes, _Daddy_ , I would like to hear the story as well.”

Will turns to look at his husband who is standing expressionless in the doorway. His blond and silver streaked hair is still slicked back and tucked behind his Vulcan ears indicating that he has come directly from his shift in the medical bay to help tuck their adopted daughter into bed. Will groans at the sight of him. It would be a sweet gesture if his timing weren't so deplorable. There will be no deterring Abigail now with Hannibal backing her up. The worst part is that Hannibal already knows this story since he was the bastard who discovered them trying to sneak back into their rooms. Will can’t fathom what Hannibal’s intentions are with this little performance, but he is committed now.

“Fine,” Will grunts and is rewarded with the delighted laughter of his daughter. “Uncle Z and I were tasked to retrieve, uh,  _something important_ from Auntie Bev.”

“What was it?” Abigail asks because of course she does.

“Uhh-um. Sorry, honey bun, that’s classified information.”

Abigail heaves a sigh that is much too heavy for her young years. She’s a military brat and understands not to press her luck when those magical words are dropped, but the heartbroken look she gives him hurts like nothing else. Will swears he will throw Zeller out an airlock the next time they are alone together.

The creak of the bed as Hannibal sits down distracts Will from his murderous meditations and parental guilt. Sensing his thoughts, Hannibal lays his hand on Will’s knee to comfort him.

Abigail resumes the interrogation of her father asking what came next. She’s curious, sensible, and strong. She would make a fine Security officer, but Will hopes she will test into a safer path like navigation or science–-something with fewer ground missions and no red shirts.

“We were betrayed when the access codes we were provided,” or more accurately **_purchased_** on the campus equivalent of the black market, “proved faulty.”

The first door opened with no problems, but the second door triggered every alarm in the building. They ran but only got as far as their own dormitory. “Your father figured out we were in trouble,” aka causing the trouble. “He found us in the hands of the local authorizes,” because he was the one who turned us in. 

“And he helped you escape?”

“Ah…no. We served our time, but he did give a very lovely and passionate defense at our trial,” Will says and gets pinched by the Vulcan for his insulting choice of adjectives. Hannibal’s actual testimony had been as emotionless as a warp engine, but without his reasoned defense, Will would be repairing boats on some backwater planet instead of starships.

“That’s not a very exciting story,” Abigail pouted.

“Yeah, well Uncle Zeller is a boring guy. Don’t believe anything he tells you. Ever.”

Abigail makes no promises, but she is quick to turn-in after that humdinger of a bedtime story.

Will lets Hannibal perform the remainder of the bedtime routine while he pours himself two fingers of some contraband Romulan ale back at their quarters. By the time Hannibal joins him, he is mostly recovered from the ordeal.

“You navigated that asteroid field quite admirably, Will.”

“Flatterer. That was barely adequate,” Will responds as he removes his red engineers uniform.

“It was efficient. It need not be anything more, but I have one question,” Hannibal says as he sits on their bed and unlaces his boots.

Will pops his head through a grey nightshirt and shimmies out of his pants. “Shoot.”

“Did you ever figure out who reprogrammed the second door?”

“Why do you think it was reprogrammed,” Will asks.

“Why indeed.” The Vulcan’s face is placid, but they have been together long enough for Will to know when Hannibal is feeling smug although he tries to hide it. His eyes sparkle like stars when he is pleased with himself, and tonight, those black eyes reflect a galaxy.

“You rotten, little hobgoblin. You reprogrammed the door!”

“Only one of those things is accurate.”

“Why?!?!” Will shouts suddenlly remembering why he disliked Hannibal when they were trainees.

“You were caught merely  _trying_  to get into the girl’s dormitory, but if you had gotten through the second door, the main door, you would have been expelled.”

Will quirked an eyebrow. “And that mattered to you? I thought you hated me during our academy days.”

“Hatred is a human vice, William. What I could not tolerate was how content you were to waste all that potential.”

“So why not reprogram BOTH doors if you were so interested in saving me.”

“You broke a rule. You deserved to be caught,” Hannibal said and licked his bottom lip to push back what might have been the flicker of a smile.

Will glares thinking of the weeks of kitchen duty and other bullshit details he endured because of that mess. He climbs into bed and turns his back on his husband. “Good night, Hannibal. I hope you don’t lose any sleep with that stick up your ass.”

Hannibal offers no response, but slips his hand beneath Will’s shirt. His palm presses firmly against Will’s back. He knows this feeling and knows where it leads. Will shivers as the tingling sensation of a Vulcan mind meld takes hold of him. 

Hannibal’s mind keeps its distance, but that will change as the space between them shrinks. His husband’s intentional needling doesn’t seem so out of place anymore as Hannibal begins to figuratively lick the creme off Will’s emotions and frustrations.

“This is why you wanted me annoyed tonight,” Will murmurs and pushes back into Hannibal’s touch. “You could have just asked.”

“I know, but I chose to experience this instead.”

“Guess I’m not going to get any sleep tonight either, huh?”

The hand at his back snakes around his waist without breaking their connection. Hannibal scoots closer until nothing separates them but clothes they wear. “Your hypothesis seems reasonable, my husband.”

Warmth flickers in Will’s chest hearing Hannibal use the h-word. He has not had the formal training Vulcans receive as children and has never been able to control himself in their couplings. Will just reacts; Hannibal reacts to those reactions; and the cycle begins anew growing stronger with each revolution.

Firmly caught in the feedback loop that ties them to each other, Will moans and reaches for Hannibal’s hand to tether himself to the present.  

“Clothes. Off. Now,” Will pants. 

“Not yet,” Hannibal whispers infuriatingly too collected. His hand sweeps down to Will’s cock. The Vulcan takes him in hand and squeezes.

Will lifts his hips into Hannibal’s grip and would have come right there if the Vulcan didn’t have that response under lockdown too. “Self-centered, shit,” Will growls. His anger is not a normal response, but that’s how Hannibal wants him to be until there is enough emotional friction to be shared by two. However, a Vulcan mind meld works both ways, and Will has ways of influencing Hannibal too.

He forces his need through the bond and is pleased when he feels Hannibal’s body tense and stiffen. Will focuses on everything he feels for his husband–all their shared heartache and passion.

“Hannibal, please,” Will begs.

Hannibal is unresponsive, but Will feels his husband’s mind yield to him.

It is the only response he needs. Will strips off his clothes, which temporarily breaks their skin-to-skin contact, and falls onto the Vulcan before he has a chance to recover. The chief engineer removes his husband’s clothes with swift precision. Each accidental brush of his fingers across the exposed skin of the telepathic Vulcan produces a shocked gasp from Hannibal as their connection reestablishes itself of its own accord.

This is Will’s favorite part of their couplings, the in-between moments when Hannibal’s will shifts out of his control.

Will's hands rub the Vulcan’s nipples until they are hard and pointed like his ears. He lays fevered kisses all along Hannibal’s neck and shoulders producing sounds from Will is sure no human has ever heard from a Vulcan before. With one hand still flush against Hannibal’s naked skin, Will reaches into the top drawer of their nightstand with his free hand and finds some lube. He places it into his husband’s hand. “Hey, you still with me?” he asks and nudges Hannibal’s face with a kiss.

“Yes,” the Vulcan exhales, but his voice is weak and distant.

“Come on, love, there is only one more thing you need to do.”

Hannibal moves on auto-pilot. Will straddles him and lifts his hips to give the Vulcan access. It takes all of his control to stay still while Hannibal prepares his hole. Will wants to push back and spear himself onto those fingers, but now is not the time. Sex with a Vulcan outside of their Pon Farr was an art as much as it was a science. It took years to perfect their technique. Too much, too soon, and they’d get lost in each other’s minds before they were properly joined.

Will pinches Hannibal’s side when he feels ready, and flinches when Hannibal withdraws his hand. He aches without Hannibal inside him.

Will aligns his hole with Hannibal’s penis and slowly lowers himself onto it. He goes slowly, he has to because this is where things begin to both come apart and come together. With every inch he gives Hannibal, the line between them blurs until they are no longer two separate minds. They are one: united in body, feeling and purpose.

"I love you," someone says and it no longer matters who.


End file.
